


Soft Beside My Throne

by theleaveswant



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Apocalypse, Boot Worship, Community: kink_bingo, Dom/sub, F/M, Gen, Kinky Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ballard tries to understand what's going on when Echo uses Alpha as a footstool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Beside My Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toesohnoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/gifts).



> This was written as a prize for toestastegood for completing a blackout in the 2010 round of Kink Bingo. I hope this pushes some of your happy buttons!

It was bad enough having Alpha here at all, in Paul's estimation, without having to watch Echo twining her fingers in his hair like that as he nuzzled at her goddamn knee like a smug, affectionate cat. The last time he brought it to Echo's attention she told him he didn't have to watch, he could leave the room. Paul thought she was joking--leave her alone with that psychopath? Go pull the other one!--but she just stared at him coolly until his laughter trailed off and he went back to hiding behind his book.

They'd met up with Alpha--captured him, joined him, it wasn't really clear--in Austin, in the slightly charred shell of one of the dozens of nightclubs that used to line Sixth Street back when the general population could still pretend that the world wasn't crumbling around them, watching their friends and families literally lose their minds without a moment's warning, and from that moment Paul had barely slept. He could tell something was different about Alpha from the first moment, everyone could, but that didn't do much to reassure anyone . . . anyone but Echo. "He's integrating," she said, as if that explained everything.

He seemed rattled, skittish, meek and quiet and prone to fits of self-directed aggression, cursing and scratching at his own skin with his fingernails, and at first Echo just frowned and watched him like everyone else in their ragtag band of survivors. That changed four days after they'd set up camp in Austin, when they were holding a townhall to argue over where to go next and Alpha grew increasingly agitated, shouting and beating a tight-clenched fist against his thigh. Echo stood up, crossed the room and grabbed Alpha by the scruff of the neck. Without batting an eye she brought him to his knees. Another push had him bent forward at the hips, his nose to the scuffed floor. Echo reached out with her free hand to snag an empty chair and drag it with a shrill, reverberating scrape towards her and sat down, placing one booted foot on Alpha's back between his shoulder blades. Alpha puffed up under the pressure, then deflated like a balloon, breath emptying out of his nose and mouth with a whuff that sent rippling waves of dust rolling away from his down-turned face. Echo then turned to the interrupted speaker and gestured for him to continue, which he belatedly did, with repeated glances at Alpha, folded, peaceful, on the floor. The meeting carried on. When it was over Echo lifted her foot and Alpha sat up, blinking, thanked her, and wandered off to his sleeping area for a nap.

"You going to tell me what that was all about?" Paul had asked, quietly, once Alpha's back was turned.

Echo shrugged. "Comfort."

The next time Alpha started to get riled up Echo snapped his name, crisp and sharp, and pointed a finger at the floor in front of her. Alpha turned, sniffed, then hesitantly moved closer to her. She cleared her throat and twitched her arm, and he lowered himself one knee at a time.  
"My boots are dusty," she said, and pulled a black handkerchief from her left back pocket. Alpha took the handkerchief and then, staring steadily up into Echo's eyes, put it to his mouth and wet it with his spit.

"What are you . . . ?" Paul took two steps towards them, then came up short with an embarrassing string of nonsense syllables when Alpha stooped to rub at Echo's boots with the dampened cloth. Once he'd cleared a small patch of leather of its coating of grime, he raised up the handkerchief to lick another spot. "Caroline, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, Cowboy. Blondie here is just working through some heavy stuff right now and I'm helping him stay calm while he processes it."

"Who's helping him?"

"Business cards call me Mistress Wanda." She held out a hand to Paul but her eyes stayed locked and loving on the serial killer polishing her boots. "Pleased to meet you."

Paul snorted. "The dominatrix imprint?"

"The preferred title is 'professional dominant'."

"Well don't I feel better knowing that we're in your capable hands."

"You should. I'm very good at what I do, and I've brought my skills to the table more times than you'd like to believe."

Paul opened his mouth, closed it, and went looking for a comfortable seat to brood in while he kept an eye on the bizarre spectacle.

Two nights ago Paul woke from a fitful slumber to catch Alpha on his knees again, moaning deeply as Echo did . . . something to him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes and saw that she was pinching him, hard, digging her fingers into the muscles of his neck, shoulders, armpits, and chest.

"Okay, that's it. You cut the freaky sex games out right now or I'm tossing him outside to the zombies."

"There's really very little sexual about it, this time. And they're not zombies. You know that."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Right, of course. This is 'therapy', is that it? You hurt his body to heal his mind?"

Echo sighed. "They always focus on the pain. Alpha's brain is working hard to patch up its cracks and splits. All that round-the-clock drilling on the foundations is making the residents a might twitchy. I'm soothing down the angry ones and teaching them that it's okay to trust, to let go that stranglehold on control."

"Well, that's very noble of you, Caroline--Wanda--whoever you are. But getting any kind of intimate with that nutcase . . . you're freaking me out, more than a little bit."

"Go back to sleep then. You don't have to watch."

He did watch, though. He's been watching them for hours, despite her suggestions that he take a break. He's tried not to stare too obviously, tried to look busy, and the effort is starting to wear on him. His eyelids are getting heavy. It's late morning now and the other rebels are beginning their day, but that's no guarantee of safety; he doubts all of them together could stop Alpha if he got the hankering for another killing spree, and with Echo on his side . . .

.

Alpha lifts his head from Echo's lap to gaze sadly at Paul, squirming and muttering in his sleep like a troubled puppy. "Think he's dreaming about unicorns?"

"I doubt it. He's still fighting so hard not to understand any of this."

"He'll come around. He's already curious, and that's a good place to start."


End file.
